


A New Touch

by Wordprism



Category: X - Fandom, X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Accident, F/M, M/M, MY BABIES, Physical Abuse, or was it, scogan - Freeform, scott is precious, so is logan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-18 22:38:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7333426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wordprism/pseuds/Wordprism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Danger room sessions couldn't compare to this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Scott walks inside with sweat on his brow. He's coming home from a lecture at a college, and he's got a food stain on his shirt. Evidently, someone in the audience didn't like what he had to say. He's coming home from shopping for Logan, because they have a dinner to go to over the weekend and he knows Logan's shirts all have either claw marks, beer stains, or frayed edges, or all three at once. He walks in the door with shopping bags running up both of his arms as he sets them down on the kitchen table.

"Logan we have that dinner in a few days. I had to pick you up a new suit and shoes and I got a twelve and a thirteen so try both pairs on and whichever one doesnt fit I'll return tomorrow. But you gotta' do it quick because I have to bring it back as soon as I can. I mean half your shirts have bullet holes and claw marks in them so I had to get you some new things, but yeah, I know you don't like suits all that much but you look good in them. I stopped there after that lecture at the college."

There was no reply.

"Logan?" he asks louder. "My blood pressure is literally through the roof today. I can actually see stars and it's giving me the shittiest fucking migraine."  
He pinches the bridge of his nose and looks over across the kitchen at the dishwasher. It takes a lot to make Scott profane with frustration. "Did you run the dishwasher or make our bed? It's like six o'clock but I didn't have time to pick up anything to make for dinner so we're all just gonna have to suffer through takeout which I'm sure is more a relief to everyone than a bad thing. And were you able to give James and Elizabeth their bath today at all?"

Again, no answer. Scott leans down and opens the dishwasher to find all of last night's plates still covered in bits of spaghetti and salad and sauce. There hasn't been time lately to clean the house or fuck, nevermind talk about the day. He presses his lips together and hits the 'run' button and dries off his hands. He assumes the bed isn't made either. He hates climbing into an unmade bed.  
But all he can focus on is the raging migraine that slowly causes his vision to spot the more he allows himself to stress. So he pours himself a glass of water and downs it with a few extra strength Advil.  
"Logan..." He says again, walking upstairs to the bedroom, only to find the bed unmade.

"Over here," the other man's voice calls from down the hallway.

Scott follows, and walks into the bathroom. He sees Logan miserably failing to change the little one, James, and there's shit smeared all over the countertop and little spurts of piss on the wall.  
"What in hell's name are you doing?" Scott's eyes go wide behind his glasses. He marches in and takes care of the baby's diaper and snaps, "Clean up all the shit," before continuing into the nursery and laying him down in his crib. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, kissing his head and tucking him in and putting the little stuffed bear by his side.

Logan comes out of the bathroom wiping his hands on a towel. "Scott, I'm sorry 'bout that. I had a busy day and-"

"Really?" Scott asks without looking at him. "You didn't make the bed or do the dishes or give them a bath like I asked you to. And I have nothing to make for dinner tonight. What could have kept you so busy today, Hon?" Sarcasm drips from his voice like sweet honey.

Logan furrows his dark brows and shakes his head while he follows downstairs. "Scott. Are you... okay?" He tries but fails to get Scott to look at him. Scott's been on edge lately, and it's been almost three weeks since the last time he let Logan touch him. But he sees it before Scott does. Elizabeth, who's coming on three is standing in the living room with a sharpie and-

"Is she drawing on... We just painted those fucking walls, Logan," Scott hisses. The dark spot in his vision is growing.

The little girl turns around and smiles when she sees her parents. The scribbles vaguely resemble a giant messy portrait of their family. There's Logan with hair scribbled on, Scott with his glasses, and the two little ones between them. Smaller in the background is a guy with wings, another with a tail, and another that's clearly bald and sitting in a misshapen chair.  
"Hi Daddy!" She smiles and pokes the wall and bites the cap of the sharpie.

"Sweetie," Logan smiles at the wall and laughs under his breath. He finds it beautiful and his eyes show it. He doesn't care that he and Scott spent a Saturday redoing the living room together. "Is that all of us?"

"Elizabeth, there's five million stacks of paper all over the house. Why couldn't you use those?" His voice sharpens as he speaks, and much to Logan's disdain, he hears anger in Scott's voice.

"Scott, I think you should calm-"

"Cut the shit Logan. I know you don't think so, but I put a lot of time into making everything work around here. The fact that I come home and you can't even watch two infants or make the bed after a whole day is quite honestly-"

Logan tilts his head and crosses his arms. He tenses. "Watch how you talk in front of her."

"Well," Scott mutters in quiet fury, "maybe if you watched her I wouldn't have to watch how I speak. You can repaint the fucking room by yourself. You can drive to the hardware store by yourself and clear this crap off the walls all on your own, and let me know if there's any more asses I need to wipe in this house. Clearly you aren't capable of doing so without getting crap everywhere, so let me know if you need someone to wipe yours."

Logan takes personal offense as anyone would expect. He lifts up their daughter and covers her ears while he carries her up to her room and lays her down before walking back down to meet Scott. His face is angry when he returns.

"She drew our whole family on the wall and you're-"

"Trying to run a family, yeah." Scott folds his arms and tries to focus on his husband through his migraine. He realizes he can only blame himself for falling for the wild man he first saw as a frightened teenager.

Logan's claws press against his knuckles. It takes every ounce of his strength not to let them slide out and do their work. "We're not one of your Danger Room groups, Scott. You don't run your family. You don't talk like that in front of your child and scare them. You don't schedule when you're going to wipe your baby's ass, you just clean them up and make them feel better when they decide they need to go. And now that you mention wiping asses, you might want to spend some time and consider focusing a little more on your own so I don't have to deal with the things you're too lazy to finish."

Scott's eyes flash hurt and embarrassment behind his glasses, but his voice stays strong. He always keeps himself fresh and trim and clean and whatever else for Logan, because he loves him, and also because he would easily die of shame right there if he wasn't presenting himself in perfect condition. "It's not like you would even know, since you're too busy in a relationship with complete solitude."

"It's because you're such a workaholic, uptight asshole sometimes that it's no wonder Jean wandered away from you." Logan only tries to prove his point, but he realizes the door he just opened and wishes he could take it back.

Scott says nothing. He reaches that eerie calm, a ticking bomb inside him that secretly scares the shit out of Logan.

Scott puts his hands in his pockets and stares straight ahead. He breathes in through his small, scrunched up, pissed little nose and his whole body stiffens. "I work hard. I work hard to feed them, feed you, teach, go out and lecture and make money on the side for us, keep the house neat, keep everything clean and organized and then try and make time for us whether that entails just having a conversation or sitting up in your lap all night long. So the one day I ask you to do something, get it the fuck done." Scott's migraine is enough to make him want to burst into tears, and beg Logan to rub his temples like he always does, make him feel safe and protected, but he can't. So he hides his emotion as always. He jabs Logan's chest with his finger and shakes his head. "There is no reason after all these years why you have to bring up Jean at all. Are you that immature that you're still unable to let that go?"

"I guess you're right. One day you're going to be the one they sigh every time you open your mouth, and I'll be the one they can actually speak to without having to fear a hissy fit. Good job, Scott." He grabs Scott's arm, and much to his surprise, Scott smacks his hand away. And Scott begins to yell.

"Don't touch me," he snaps. "Just because I'm organized and always trying to make everyone happy doesn't mean I'm not a good parent. Not everything in life can be drawing on the walls, alright!? I know you'd like it to be but that is not how the world works. Hate to break it to you."

"Says the one who sleeps with any telepath who looks his way. Any woman for that matter. No wonder Nathan hates you." He doesn't mean it, but he says it. He can feel the entire school quiet down as if everyone is listening through the walls. He has no idea what possessed him to talk like that.

"You have no right," Scott says to him. "You have no right to talk to me that way when all I do is do and do and do for you. All I do is love you." He can't believe Logan would say that to him, when he's been nothing but faithful and never even dreamed of even looking at someone else. He's in love with this man before him, and he can't understand how he essentially called him a slut to his face. At that moment, it happens so fast that Logan doesn't know how. He and Scott are suddenly closer, pulling at each others arms and bodies in complete infuriation, silent, muttering curses and nearly strangling each other. Normally all it takes is a beer and a training session to blow off the steam, not this uncensored melodrama. They screw out their tension on the Danger Room floor, or kiss it out in a broom closet in one of their classrooms. They're standing in the middle of the living room they painted last weekend, grabbing at each other, and not in an amorous way. Scott goes on. "And the fact that you think I'm going to just clean up after you like one of your little Japanese wives-"

Then a snapping sound.  
Logan finds himself so hurt, so vexed and angry with Scott and his pissy attitude that the loud sound wakes him out of his angered trance. He realizes that he did something he promised himself he would never do. The only time he would hurt Scott intentionally was little scratches during sex, hickeys, bite marks on his neck that were never quite deep enough to leave a permanent scar. But he hit Scott. And he hit him hard.

Scott stumbles back into the wall, and there's a blood stain on his shirt. His hands form a protective muzzle over the lower half of his face. When he lifts his hands, blood dumps free and his his nose begins to gush. It's purple and for sure, broken. He starts crying to himself, begs mingled with shrieks and stammers. It's so easy to forget how delicate his human body could be...

Scott can hardly see in front of his own face now. The migraine is blocking half his vision. But he sees red, crimson on his shirt and his nose almost feels detached from his face. He takes a sharp breath and feels the poke of a broken rib as he stays put on the floor. He sees the form of a shadow approaching him, and the voice is muffled. He closes his eyes tightly and pulls his knees to his chest, afraid of how bad the injury to his face is because it just won't stop bleeding. It reminds him of his childhood, the way Winters beat him and approached him when Scott refused to help him steal money or break into houses.

Under his breath, he begs Logan not to hurt him. Much to Logan's horror, Scott is whispering that he's sorry, and "Please... please don't hurt me." He realizes that Scott is terrified of him.

Normally a punch to the face leaves a split lip or a black eye, nothing to write home about. But when the hand delivering the hit is internally coated with adamantium, it leaves a pretty decent wound, which isn't guaranteed to stop bleeding. In fact, Scott looks like he spilled red paint on himself. The bruise has blackened and spreads steadily up to underneath his eyes.

Logan crouches down, his hands trembling. He wants to deny what his eyes are telling him, but nobody else could have done this. Except him.  
He reaches out to wipe the blood from Scott's nose, but the younger man winces and shrinks against the wall. His eyes are shut behind his glasses. A tear skips down from behind the lenses, and Logan forces himself to clean up the mess he made. It doesn't help the sickening, guilty weight in his gut. The nose he's used to kissing goodnight is mangled from the impact of his hand.

He takes his sleeve and presses it against Scott's bleeding nose, tilting his head back. It continues to pour out. Scott continues to fight against the attention Logan gives him out of fear, and he gasps and pushes the Canadian's strong hands away from his face. Scott is the type to let himself bleed out before letting someone he's angry with go near him, nevermind help him.

Scott doesn't let pain ever get to him. His reaction is always a steadfast, "I'm fine." But this time, he's beyond caught off guard, stunned that the one person who's kept him safe all these years just punched his lights out. That's where the tears come from. He feels Logan's arms secure around him, but he squirms and kicks until the older man lets him go. He can already tell a decent amount of his blood is on the floor. But he won't let Logan touch him. Not after that.

Logan knows Scott will have no problem ripping off his glasses and blasting him back to Alberta if he gets too close. So he calls an ambulance and tilts Scott's head once to minimize the blood loss. He runs downstairs to find Hank in the lab and tells him he has to watch the kids.

"The hell is going on up there?" he asks.

Jean furrows her brows from the other end of the room. "It didn't sound good up there. Did someone get hurt?" She asks questions she already knows the answer to. Logan sees it in her eyes.

"Nothing. Just watch them. Please." He's gone as quick as he came and waits at the door for the ambulance, which eventually shows up. He doesn't even think of a way to explain the injury to the paramedics.

They help Scott up and ask him what happened when he gets his wits about him. They look around the room, at the drawings on the walls and at the fallen furniture, and one of them spots the blood all over Logan's sleeve. Scott glances at Logan out of the corner of his eye and back at the paramedic. "I'm a mutant, as you know," he mutters quietly. "I've got eye beams that reflected back and screwed up my face pretty bad."

Of course, they don't know that Scott's optic blasts don't do a thing to harm him.

"Pretty bad is an understatement."

"You'd think a teacher at a mutant school-"

"I know," Scott laughs convincingly. "I'm still human enough to make mistakes."

Logan's stomach knots. Scott doesn't even look his way when they get into the ambulance together. He silently wishes he'd just made the stupid bed this morning like Scott kindly asked him to. He reaches out to place a hand on top of Scott's, and he isn't surprised when Scott curls his fingers against his own side in a gentle retreat and stares at the opposite wall of the vehicle.


	2. Chapter 2

At the hospital, they treat Scott for his broken nose and cracked rib. They have to cauterize a ruptured artery in his face to stop the blood from dumping out of his nostrils. It takes a few hours to get him calm and clean and settled in a bed, especially since he hates doctors and hospitals, and Logan stays in the waiting room the whole time, sick to his stomach. He always did love Scott's nose, whether he licked at it laying on top of him or just kissed him good morning. He stays seated amongst other worried families who are there for heart attacks, comas, seizures, accidents that fell in their laps by chance. He's here because he beat his husband. And in all his past slaughtering of innocent people, families and children, whether it was for payment or out of animalistic rage, nothing has ever felt this awful. 

Scott wakes up a few hours later, well, he doesn't know how long it's been. The clock says three twenty in the morning. His nose burns and he can hardly see out of his eyes. His whole face is red and tender. "Hello?" he croaks out. Nobody answers except the beeping heart monitor. He glances over at it and sees how high his blood pressure is. Fuck.

He caves and lets his head rest on the pillow behind him. His torso is wrapped and his legs are gently tucked under the blankets. He starts fidgeting around but a nurse walks in before he can get too far. 

"Early morning, sir." She smiles and fixes his blankets. "You don't have to worry. The doctor was able to stop the bleeding with a small surgery and only one of your ribs is cracked. I think it looked much worse than it is, so you're lucky." She looks over at the young man. "Can I get you anything? Juice? Water? Anything to eat?"

"Water is fine." He realizes he's parched from yelling at Logan. He feels bad until he remembers that Logan slapped him around and called him a player for no reason. He matched a loud argument with his fists, the only way he seemed to know how. "Yeah, water is good."

She retrieves some water and sits at the bedside, tilting her blonde head to the side. "Aren't you Scott Summers, the mutant guy?"

Scott just raises a brow. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"No," he laughs under his breath. "I am. What about it?"

"No, nothing. I just expected a more massive incident when one of the X-men gets in trouble, you know? Like stab wounds or brain injuries or all that magic stuff. Not a bloody nose."

Scott smiles. "Yeah, well. We all trip over our own feet sometimes."

"Is that what happened?" She looks puzzled and looks down at the records, a short dark glint in her eyes. 

"Yes," Scott says without a second thought. "It was my own fault. Wasn't being careful."

She nods slowly and purses her lips. "Oh... Oh I see. Alright. I think your-"

"Husband."

"Yes. I think he's in the waiting room. You want me to send him in?"

Scott considers it only briefly. "Tell him I'm going to be alright, but I'm asleep. I don't need this right now." He closes his eyes and tries to sleep.

Meanwhile, Logan listens to the nurse. He decides to go home and at least fix up the living room and bedroom before going back to the hospital. He walks in the door and feels a thousand eyes watching him even though the school is fast asleep. 

He first takes care of the dishes and places them back in their cabinets. He then goes up to the bed and makes it, putting his and Scott's dirty clothes in the laundry basket. Scott has a habit of stealing the covers and leaving Logan with nothing. It makes him smile, but the guilt he feels quickly suppresses it. He fluffs the pillows and fixes the picture frame holding a photo of the two of them at Scott's side of the bed. He packs a duffel bag full of clothes Scott might want to change into. He isn't sure if he would want jeans or slacks or sweatpants, but the only certainty is Scott would never be caught dead in a hospital gown. That is, if he even decided to come home after this. He's too rattled to be angry or come to tears. He just keeps quiet and returns to the hospital.

It turns out three days later Scott is able to come home. The younger man doesn't say a word on the way back. He sits in the car completely still and stares out the window. And the second they get home, he goes into the guest room and closes the door. 

He thinks to himself about how he yelled at his daughter, about how terrible a parent he must be. After all, he hasn't had one child that ever really liked him. Why should this be any different?

His nose isn't too bad now, since it looked worse than it was. He lays with his back on the bed and his bruised nose facing up. He doesn't even try to touch it. There's also a lined scab on his face where his lip got cut against his teeth. He hears Logan knock on the door. He can tell that the older man is for the first time in his life, terrified in a new kind of way. But he doesn't say anything or answer the door. He hears it open and he immediately turns his head to the side, pretending to be fast asleep. Right now he wants nothing to do with Logan. He's scared to face his children now too. A tear slips down and runs along his bruised cheek onto the pillow as he lays there praying to himself that Logan will just go and leave him alone and not yell at him again. Because his migraine is coming back with vengeance, and its enough to make him keep wincing in silence. Logan doesn't disturb him and just leaves him dinner on the side table and a glass of water. The door clicks shut. 

He shoots up and wolfs down the plate because he's so hungry. He forgot how bad hospital food was. He drinks the water and finishes it, then walks to the bathroom to change out of his clothes to shower and slide under the covers in his underwear. He runs his finger over the three little gashes along the hip of his boxers and closes his eyes tightly behind his glasses. He always enjoyed Logan's rough affection, but now he's scared of it. 

Logan checks up on him in the middle of night to find Scott's sleeping body curled up, his chest rising and falling under the covers. He closes the door as quietly and leaves the young man alone. 

The bedroom is strangely unsettling without Scott- without his huddle for warmth at two in the morning or the times where he murmurs in his sleep. Without his spontaneous climbing onto Logan in the middle of the night for something a little dirty. Without his sudden ideas that come to him at four in the morning that he just has to share with Logan, no matter how silly they sound. Logan takes the two babies from their cribs and carries them to bed with him, holding them both close to his chest and nuzzling them like young pups until they fall asleep in his arms. He falls asleep too, with a little hand on his face and another little hand tangled in his hair. 

Its three days before Scott comes out of the room, walking and breathing carefully to avoid aggravating or damaging his one cracked rib. It turned out to be a hairline fracture but he still wants to be certain. 

Logan looks startled to see him in the kitchen and nearly drops his glass of water. Scott just looks at him for a minute and walks over to the fridge without a word. He pours himself a glass of milk and leans against the counter, taking a drink. 

Logan is dying on the inside, desperate to hear Scott say something- anything at all. Even something like "You're a fucking idiot."  
But Scott keeps quiet. 

"I'm going to see an acupuncturist. My headaches have gotten worse," he finally says like its no big deal. 

Logan is dumbfounded. He remembers massaging Scott's face and head to help soothe his migraines, which always seemed to work. He isn't sure if he should speak back. Of course he does because he can't resist when the man he loves hasn't looked his way in almost a week. "I thought you liked when I-"

"It's not enough," Scott states plainly. "I used to be enough to clear your head of nightmares but I'm not quite there any more. I need professional help for this if I want to go one day without pressure building in my head till it bursts."

Logan just nods. There's nothing he can really do except let Scott go do what he needs to. Anything to help him get better and smile again. That night Scott comes back to bed, although he leaves a large gap between them and he faces the bathroom light. 

The next day Scott goes to see the specialist and comes back looking a million times better. Rejuvinated. Lively. The only thing that bothers Logan is the scent of an unknown person on Scott, and it's incredibly strong. But when he brings it up, Scott responds-

"It's a procedure done with a person sticking needles into you and rubbing the bad spots. Of course I'm going to smell like them." He says it as if it should be obvious. Logan realizes how paranoid he's being. 

Scott doesn't talk to him for the rest of the evening. It gets to the point where he goes for days without saying a word, only a "Did you make sure to shut down the Danger Room?" or "Did you give the kids their snack?" And he's visiting the acupuncture place three- sometimes four times in a week. 

One day, Scott looks up as he's being treated, to the young man physically putting the needles in his forehead and cheeks. 

"You said you fell down or something, right?"

"Yeah. I guess we all get a little klutzy sometimes." Scott smiles so that he can still keep his face still. He has his eyes shut with his glasses set neatly on the table, a towel covering his hips and below. 

"I know you didn't fall."

Scott presses his lips together. "Doesn't matter what happened. I've gotten worse than a cracked rib and bruised nose. Trust me."

"And an offset jaw."

"Wha-"

He pushes down on Scott's jaw and feels part of the bone click back into place. The mutant lets out a gasp of pain that soon becomes relief. 

"Sorry."

"No. Don't be sorry," Scott laughs and keeps his eyes shut tight. It reminds him that this is the doing of the man who supposedly loves him. The man who Scott took shopping only to get it on in the dressing room. The man who he first met trapped in a cold cage sitting alone together on a cement floor. The man who, like him, loved the snow and described it to him as they sat there on the porch with a mug of beer and a mug of coffee. A drink to help the weary man forget and a drink to keep the tired man awake.  
This was the man who pulled Scott out from teaching into a broom closet in the middle of the day. And the one who licked and kissed his wounds, the ones on his skin and the ones in his heavy heart. The one man he actually believed wanted him, wanted to care for him in a world that wanted nothing to do with him at all. This is the man that Scott first told he loved him in the middle of the night, covered in sweat and heavy breathing and love and passion and tears with trembling hands and lips. 

"Are you okay?"

"Fine." Scott ignores the wet streak down his face. 

"Who did this to you, Scott?" 

Scott waits, then said nothing. Then finally, he says it. "...My husband." It hurts just to say out loud. 

The man looks at him and his hands tense. He was in the middle of massaging Scott's neck and shoulders, but his hands are frozen. "I'm sorry," he whispers. "I didn't mean to pry."

"It's okay. You didn't do anything." Scott feels the man's pair of hands move to his chest, but his rib cage still aches. "You can skip to my legs," he says quietly. "I don't want to aggravate whatever's trying to heal."

A few minutes later and the session is almost done. Scott manages to let himself go every time, just for the sake of getting a release. He'd rather do it this way than let Logan go anywhere near him. Part of him almost feels guilty, but it makes him feel better and ultimately clears his head. Sometimes what does it are the touches to his legs or waist, or sometimes even the direct touch through the towel. From time to time groans escape him, and he arches his back against the cushioned table in bliss. 

He hears the curtains to the room move. 

His eyes are still closed and the man quickly takes his hands off Scott's pelvis. 

Scott tenses. 

"I think you have the wrong room," the man says over Scott. 

Scott hears a grunt and a quick "Sorry," then quiet. 

He gathers his belongings afterwards and gets dressed, putting on his glasses and driving home. He walks in the door to find Logan looking at him. "What?"

It feels so good just to say something to him, but Scott doesn't let himself slip any further. 

"Nothing. You were gone a while."

"Same hour session as usual. I'll be more careful about what time I leave the house, sir."

Logan frowns and just sets his beer on the counter. He takes a step towards Scott but Scott takes a step back and bumps into the door like a cornered animal. He waits, then walks past Logan as swiftly as his feet will carry him without breaking into a run. 

"Slim-"

"Don't 'Slim' me," Scott says with furrowed brows. "Please."

Logan drew in a breath and caught a whiff of something. A little bit of anger, some fear, but a shocking residue of fading arousal.  
"Scott."

"What, Logan?" he snaps. 

"What in hell's name are you doing when you go out?"

"It's massage therapy Logan. It's supposed to relax me but funny, the second I come home I'm not so calm anymore."

"This must be a new kind of massage therapy- that includes getting off from it."

Scott just stares. "Excuse me?"

"You're going to tell me you didn't?"

"I haven't had a headache in a week now."

Logan blinks and tilts his head. 

Scott stares down at his feet. He doesn't say anything. But his nose still hurts and the image of Logan attacking him and beating him against the wall remains vivid enough to smother his guilt. 

"I followed you there, Scott. I'm not an idiot. I might not be the school's best math teacher or bark the best orders at young students but I know when I'm being lied to."

"I don't believe you. You're just mad because I'm standing up for myself with what you did. You're terrified that I have the balls to not speak to you."

Logan reaches into his pocket and sets his phone on the counter, then hits play while Scott stares nervously down at it. It's a recording or something, and soon enough Scott hears his own moaning and-

"I can't believe you- Turn it off."

Logan complies and folds his arms across his chest. Scott's a stubborn, strong man that he loves, but sometimes he's dramatic as fuck. "You're passive aggressive and you cry over spilled milk. And you have a history of fucking around when things don't go your way."  
Part of him wants to walk over and hold Scott, apologize for what he did and all the damage he did to his agile, warm little body. 

That night Scott puts the young ones to bed while Logan takes the bedroom. Scott hasn't eaten since he came home and he still feels like throwing up.  
Logan's claws are unsheathed while he sleeps, preventing the younger mutant from getting anywhere near the mattress. He doesn't look happy, even in his sleep, and Scott finds his way back to the spare bedroom. 

Scott lays on the bed on top of the covers. It's too hot to bury himself in blankets. His stomach is churning and he wants to kick himself in the teeth for what he did. He drifts in and out of sleep, but Scott can be woken up by the slightest uneasiness, including guilt. 

Around two in the morning he hears a sharp cry from their bedroom, coming from Logan. He puts on his glasses and walks down the hallway in his boxers. He peers into the bedroom to find Logan asleep, curled up and dreaming of something terrible, surely. His claws are in but his body is pale and covered in panicked sweat. Scott is probably the last person he wants to see or feel next to him. 

But Scott sits down on the edge of the bed anyways and puts one leg up and folds it underneath him. He waits for Logan to reach a low in his nightmare before softly sliding into the sheets, keeping his distance and holding onto the pillow beneath his head. He inches a little closer. 

In the darkness, the Canadian opens one eye from his nightmare and sees the form of the other man next to him. He pretends to be asleep.

He hears Scott's uneasy breathing and the erratic shifting in the bed. 

And much to Scott's surprise, he feels Logan's hands find him and take him into a deep embrace in the middle of his sleep. Together their hearts come down from a frantic display of worry and anger. 

Scott still believes Logan to be asleep, and he calms down so quickly that he falls asleep limp against Logan's chest, toes touching and knees leaning together and bodies curled in a gentle fit against one another. Logan rests his lips against the top of Scott's head, drawing in that sweet scent.

Within two minutes both of them are asleep, arms wrapped tightly around the other in an unspoken apology that means much more than saying it out loud.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time posting smut :s

Scott wakes up to find his face nuzzled safely into the warm, musky scent of Logan's chest that reminds him of the northern wooded forests in the wintertime. 

It's still dark out. The windows are open and the night breeze sweeps over the lake up the hill and carries the scent of mist and freshwater and the moonlight all into the bedroom, diaphanous curtains billowing silently and slowly above the wooden floor. 

Scott's subtle movements are enough to draw Logan out of his sleep. Logan knows just by a change in breathing and movement of the sheets when his mate awakens and is looking tiredly at the world around them. He has an instinct to nuzzle Scott back to sleep in silence and hold him in a protective embrace, but instead he whispers to the younger man.  
"Scott?"

Scott bites his lip and hesitates. But the truth is, it pains him to maintain an act of withdrawal from Logan. He shifts and rolls himself onto his back, with his shoulder tucked against Logans chest. He stares up at Logan. He has nothing to say, but all he can see in Logan's eyes is regret and worry and anxiety and the burning need to take back his mistakes that are slowly eating away at his conscience. 

Without a word Scott leans up in the bed and kisses his husband, holding their lips together and running his hands up Logan's thick sideburns and through his black, sweeping hair. Logan is careful not to hurt Scott's nose, and he touches Scott back like he's a delicate little thing that he almost came too close to breaking. 

"You're trembling," Scott says with a hand secured on Logan's shivering abdomen. He looks up and kisses Logan's jaw, whispering, "I forgive you."

Logan grips Scott tightly to him, holding his warm, slim body and squeezing his eyes shut. "I wouldn't ever-"

"I know. We're going to be okay, Logan. Believe me." Scott licks at his own lip and bites it. He lets Logan cradle his head and kiss the top of it for what feels like a perfect eternity. "I haven't been myself lately... I haven't paid attention to you or-"

"It doesn't excuse me from doing what I did."

"No, but it did wake me up," Scott murmurs. "You're not the only one who hasn't been doing their best lately." He sits up and looks down at Logan, quietly bending a knee over the top of Logan's leg. They smile for a moment at each other. 

\---------------------------

"Oh, God!" Logan's boxers are down just enough to expose his cock while he lays flat on his back, eyes fluttering closed and open in ecstasy while Scott sits on top of him, his boxers thrown to the side but his hardened nipples poking through the thin cotton of his T-shirt. 

Scott's legs are folded into an 'M' as he sits there, circling his hips back and forth and riding Logan like his life depends on it. He pushes down with a ferocity Logan was somehow unaware of, like that leader streak in his blood was agitated and demanding recognition. 

He wedges himself down and squeezes tightly around Logan, making him moan at the sight and feel of Scott being the one fucking him even though he's the one technically fucking Scott. It takes every last ounce of his strength not to come when Scott slides his hands up his own abdomen, up through his hair and back down to his tee, pulling the neck down just enough to expose those pert little nipples while he twists them and rubs them with his sculpted lips hanging wide open.

Scott is in complete control of the rapid rhythm and pace, and he doesn't even seem to remember that his nose is still bruised or that he's supposed to be resting in bed. He grinds down with Logan's balls between his thighs... and Scott makes sure to lean down and kiss him deeply on the mouth with his arms wrapped lovingly around Logan's neck. Finally Scott leans far back again, their bodies forming an amazingly obtuse angle while Scott moves up and down, almost but not quite angrily, biting his tongue and digging his nails into Logan's thighs with an assertion of power until the feral shouts out and comes deep inside of him. It's like Scott is finally letting go of a different tension, one that had left him the obedient, docile and forbidden little creature between the sheets. Scott keeps Logan pressed down and rides off the rest of the sensation with his head tilted back and satisfied gasps and moans coming from his mouth, finally letting go onto Logan's chest and the bottom of his chin. 

"Fuck," Scott mutters, leaning his chest flat against his husband's and staying put with his legs straddling Logan's lap. He trembles with an aftershock and closes his eyes while Logan's hands fold over his back. 

"I didn't know you had that in you," Logan whispers to him. It's almost as if this was Scott's way at getting back at him, by unleashing this secret domineering fire that Logan never knew he possessed. Not that soft, warm expression of delight and begging for more, but a dominating surprise that leaves Logan stunned and a little confused. Especially because it made him ache between his legs the more he thought about it. 

"It's in there," Scott assures him while he rubs Logan's arms up and down. He slips right off Logan with a confident sweep and smiles down at him, tugging on his lip and nipping at his jaw. He stands up and fixes his shirt and walks out of the bedroom and down the stairs with his bare ass showing behind him and a little pride in his step. 

Logan follows after pulling on a pair of sweats and finds Scott pouring himself a glass of water in the kitchen without a care in the world. He almost thinks Scott unleashed on him just to conceal the hurt still present from their fight that went too far. He was in charge, dominant, almost aggressively so. 

Scott looks up still facing the cabinets. He looks back down and holds the glass. "Sorry," he says under his breath. "I didn't mean to-"

Logan wraps his arms around Scott from behind, holding his waist after giving his bottom a light squeeze. He can hear that Scott's breathing is uneasy and troubled, like he needs reassurance. He lowers his chin onto Scott's shoulder and closes his eyes, rubbing the younger man's sides and then holding onto him, claws extending in a protective gesture. Logan turns Scott around to face him, and kisses the top of his head, then the younger mutant's supple lips. 

Scott looks up at him. 

"I'll never hurt you," Logan says to him. "Never." He can't see Scott's eyes. But he can see Scott doing that thing that he does, when his lips tremble and he stares up at the ceiling. 

"I'm fine," he answers. "I don't need you to be sappy for me... I'm okay."

"You don't have any underwear on." Logan smiles a little as he tries to make Scott do the same. 

Scott looks down and laughs out of nowhere, stopping him from crying but not stopping the built up snot and tears from dripping out. He bites his lips and starts to laugh in disgust at himself. "Oh, ew, this is-"

"Fine." Logan cleans Scott's face with a tissue and tosses it in the garbage. "You silly thing." Logan gives Scott's rear another soft squeeze and tells him, "Go put some pants on, you're gonna give some poor little kid a heart attack."


End file.
